Till the Tide Rolls In
by Jessie McDonald
Summary: Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them? A look at the origins of everyone's favorite creeper.
1. Prologue

Till the Tide Roles In

By Jessie McDonald

Chapter 1 – Prologue

**Disclaimer:** As much as I wish things were different, I don't own the creeper or any other characters from the _Jeepers Creepers_ series that may appear in this series. I do, however, own Jed Lorries (in some way or another), Felicity "Lissie" Martin, and all the inhabitants of Feltonshire, Iowa.

**Author's Note:** I'd like to say that this idea was my own, and for the most part it is. Yet I also need to give credit to A Nightmare on Water Street, who started writing "Jeepers Creepers: The Story of Jeremy Carver" almost two years ago. Her idea of the creeper's origins sparked the story you are about to read. Yet, she obviously hasn't updated her story since June 2004, so I've decided to take her idea (mind you, I did e-mail her asking to do so, though I have yet to get a reply) and add my own flair and inspiration to it. If A Nightmare on Water Street is or does read this and is upset, you can e-mail me about it. Otherwise, and to everyone else, enjoy!

"_Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?" --Glinda, "Wicked"_

**Poho County – April 2001**

"It isn't dead," Minxie proclaimed to the chilled with fear group around her. Her arms tightened around Double-D as if she could make her words less frightening by human contact. "Its time ran out."

The farmer—Jack Taggart, was that his name?—looked up from his pulverized victim to glare at her. Then he picked up the spear and stabbed it once more into the heart of the beast that had emotionally and physically beaten them since yesterday afternoon—had it really been so short a time ago?

"It looks dead to me," he retorted as he walked back to the truck.

A harsh wind blew past them as soon as his words dropped from his tongue, only it hadn't sounded like a normal breeze should sound. It sounded harsher, like a laugh from an old woman.

Minxie was instantly reminded of the fairy tales she had read as a child. Images of the wicked witches and evil stepmothers flicked through her mind's eye. If she were to assign a voice to them, one that would perfectly encompass their wickedness, the rumble and deep shudder of that wind might have fitted perfectly.

Doing her best to hold back the frightened shiver that threatened to rattle her very soul, she shook her head and, getting to her feet, began to help Double-D stand as well.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Watching. Waiting.

That was all Adrienne seemed to do every twenty third spring for twenty three days and for good reason. Like the Egyptians watched warily for some sign of the Deliverer, she watched and waited for a sign of the one who would destroy her creation. It was only a matter of time, she had accepted that even before she had begun her spell. Sooner or later, someone would happen into Poho Fucking County and ruin everything. Almost 140 years of careful plotting and planning all down the drain in the hands of the one person who could ruin everything.

But who was it was the question? And when would she (or he, reincarnation was always a strange matter) appear like the son of God?

Slumped against a tree well hidden by the shadows of early dawn, Adrienne pulled her shawls, frayed from years or wear and tear, closely about her and tucked a stray black lock behind an ear. If there was one thing she could take pride in, it was that the years had aged her well. Over 200 years of living and breathing on this God-forsaken spit of a sphere and she hardly looked over 40.

Well, she would have been happier with an age around 20, but why question the powers that had rewarded her so well?

Her purple eyes narrowed as she watched the group of five—maybe six. For all she knew, the one in the truck could still be unfortunately alive—humans not more than 13 feet from her. In their pathetic fear and even more horrid care for each other, they had yet to notice her prescience. Her eyes scanned each of them in turn, searching for some sign that he or she could be the "Deliverer" (so to speak).

For awhile, she had thought it might be Jack Taggart. With the thirsty anger coursing through his veins, aching for revenge, his attitude and determination, no, desperation, evident in his actions had been close. And hell, he had been the only one to actually injure the creeper beyond the creature's power of control, hurting him like she knew he had never been hurt before. It would take all her abilities to get the body out of the farmer's grasp before the next feeding year began. How inconvenient these mortals could be sometimes?

But no, she now knew that it wasn't him. Anyone who had lost a relative at the hungry hands of Jed Lorries—now referred to by society as the creeper. How fitting!—would go to extraordinarily stupid means to save the human or, as usual, get revenge. Hadn't the Jenner girl even gone so far as to offer herself in her brother's place five days ago? Pathetic!

She had also crossed off the other boys in the group. They were daring, yes, very daring to have tried to help the Scott boy, but there wasn't any sort of spark in them that she was looking for.

The girls, Rhonda and Minxie, were always a possibility. Minxie had the eyes, oh, yes, those eyes that saw far more than they should have. And Rhonda's horrid relationship with Scott was close enough to what she was looking for. But no, they weren't the ones either. Like the boys, they were each missing that spark, the key element that marked him or her as the damned one, the ender of all that Adrienne had enjoyed in the past century. Minxie came close, but still no cigar.

The rumble of the car engine startled her out of her thoughts. The car, loaded with the whole group and—oh hell, no—the creeper's body as well, creaked and cringed its way back to the road.

Yes, it would be a hard time getting Jed Lorries back in her grasp this time. But having him under the close watch of that fucking farmer might just buy her some time. Time to look for, to watch, to wait some more. The one was out there somewhere; she would feel it, smell it, in the wind.

The past was one son of a bitch and it was about to catch up with her.


	2. A Good Luck Charm

Till the Tide Roles In

By Jessie McDonald

Chapter 2 – A Good Luck Charm

**_Disclaimer: As much as I wish things were different, I don't own the creeper or any other characters from the Jeepers Creepers series that may appear in this story. I do, however, own Jed Lorries (in some way or another), Felicity "Lissie" Martin, Adrienne, and all the inhabitants of Feltonshire, Iowa._**

**_Author's Note: I'd like to say that this idea was my own, and for the most part, it is. Yet I also need to give credit to A Nightmare on Water Street, who started writing "Jeepers Creepers: The Story of Jeremy Carver" almost two years ago. Her idea of the creeper's origins sparked the story you are about to read. Yet, she obviously hasn't updated her story since June 2004, so I've decided to take her idea (mind you, I did e-mail her asking to do so, though I have yet to get a reply) and add my own flair and inspiration to it. If A Nightmare on Water Street is or does read this and is upset, you can e-mail me about it. Otherwise, and to everyone else, enjoy!_**

**_Also, this story will probably be moving very slowly and be full of romance. I really want to take the time for you to get to know the creeper who was Jed Lorries, Felicity Martin, and of course Adrienne. So sit back, make a cup of tea (I'd suggest green tea with lemon, but that's just because it's my favorite), and enjoy!_**

"_Nothing happens by chance, my friend... No such thing as luck. A meaning behind every little thing, and such a meaning behind this. Part for you, part for me, may not see it all real clear right now, but we will, before long." -- Richard Bach_

**Feltonshire, IA – 1863**

If there was a four-leaf clover in the whole of Feltonshire, Iowa, it was a given that Jed Lorries had found it. He seemed to be one of the luckiest guys on earth, the one that only ever found flowers and sunshine in his life.

Not that things started out that way.

Jed Lorries was born on April 13, 1838 to Rachel and Jacob Lorries, a farming couple, in Trojahn, Pennsylvania. I would like to say that the three fulfilled the clichéd picture of happiness and tears, but . . . well, the tears part was correct. Born too fast, too soon (if they had had the technology we use today, 23 days too soon would have been about right), and too painfully, Jed entered life at the same moment his mother entered death. As the baby screamed fits of watery anger at his abrupt entry into a strange world, his father howled at the loss of his wife.

But Jed was lucky. When most babies born motherless and small would have died, he lived, growing healthier and stronger by the day. It was as if taking his mother's life gave him double the strength to keep going, though no one said that aloud to Jacob. He also inherited his mother's deep blue eyes and blond hair as well as his father's chin. If anything, that was enough to double his father's resilience too.

Yet Jacob Lorries was never the same again after burying his wife. No one expected him to be any better. Everyone was sorry. Everyone offered to help. Everyone insisted on asking about his welfare every day. Even the most mild-mannered man would have exploded under the pressure of the continual cries of his son and the nonstop interfering neighbors.

Luckily, he didn't give into the beer bottle, the barmaids, or the card deck, he just . . . disappeared emotionally off the face of the earth. Once a lighthearted husband and farmer who carried his heart and emotions on a sleeve, Jacob suddenly became unpredictable and spontaneous. Before a smile would have betrayed his engagement to Rachel or the purchase of his first acre, a frown revealed a bad day in the fields. Now his neighbors, who once knew his current mood and intentions from those moods from a mile off, felt like they knew and had never known the blank faced, scruffy shell of a man walking down the street, eyes straight ahead. At his cabin, he often fell into the habit of scanning the horizon with steady, searching eyes, as if he was expecting something but he, nor his neighbors, had no idea what.

So it should have been no surprise two years later when, without a look back and no noise save for the whimpers of a toddling Jed, Jacob boarded a stagecoach one morning. Naturally he hadn't said a word about it to anyone, he simply showed up at the station at the crack of dawn, child and suitcase in hand, bought a ticket on the first stagecoach of the morning, and left an hour later.

"Well at least he took the child with him," the townsfolk muttered once the dust had settled behind the father and son. In truth, they were more surprised (and pleased) by that move than anything else for it showed that the widower still had enough power to feel something for his child.

Whether this decision was lucky for Jed or not changed from day to day, situation to situation. He was lucky in that he experienced more by the age of seven than most people saw and did in their lifetimes. At three, he rode a steamboat down the Hudson River from Albany to New York City. A year later he learned his letters by reading (or attempting to do so) Horace Greeley's _New York Tribune_. During the winter of his fifth year, he tapped maple trees with his father in Vermont, learning to collect the sap in a bucket and then boil it into a thick and sweet syrup. The properties of iron ore, wood, and metals (particularly their ability to be twisted, scraped, and molded into useful household wears) became a passion of his after his father took a job as in Ohio steel mill.

But there was a price with every experience and lessoned learned. Unluckily, for six years after leaving Pennsylvania, the Lorries men moved from place to place, rarely staying for more than a year in one spot. On the lookout for that something he couldn't find scanning the horizon in Pennsylvania, Jacob dragged his son across miles, searching for whatever could fill the empty hole left by Rachel's death and lighten the burden of raising Jed. Every now and again, they would settle in a town, city, or village that, Jacob believed, had the spark he needed. But, like most flames, the spark never lasted. For whatever reason, whether the size of the town or the conditions of his job, it eventually cooled and left him wanting, waiting for something better. Jed, young as he was, took each move in stride and at least pretended to be eager with a change in scenery, but, truth be told, the lack of stability made him continually unhappy.

In 1846, the Lorries made their final move to Feltonshire, a town small enough to create an "everybody knows everybody" impression and large enough to be connected to the railroad, in recently admitted Iowa. Calling on his experience in the steel mill, Jacob partnered with Ethan Graham in starting a blacksmith shop. Father and son settled in a cabin on the edge of town, a vast improvement from the boarding houses and rooms located above everything from bars to train depots.

For almost 2 years, the pair seemed happy and finally settled down. Rock starting his reputation as a good luck charm, Jed prospered in the community, gaining friends, popularity, and more comfortable stability than he had had in years. The blacksmith shop also flourished, becoming a key place for any tin ware and metal-related work.

Yet he should have known that it was all too good to be true.

Then, in May 1848, after hearing word of a gold rush in California and the promise of ultimate riches, Jacob quickly returned to his old ways. Night after night he would sit outside and stare blankly at the horizon, yet again searching for something. Old enough to recognize the odd behavior, Jed did his best to calm his father only to receive a glare and muttering in return. One morning, out of the blue, he packed a bag and left on the train. Jed was still asleep in his bed, blissfully and luckily unaware.

Three weeks later a "If you're reading this, I'm dead" letter came for Jed from his father along with a note from a man. It explained that Jacob had gotten into argument with a group of Texans over a claim of gold, which ended in gunshots and more red and than gold in the waters.

The ten-year old was no stranger to death, having unconsciously been present at his mother's as well as the daily gang killings near the Lorries' New York apartment. But this was definitely different. While the others, even his mother, were not a large part of his life, merely a twist of bad luck that he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time to witness them. As distant as the man had been sometimes, his father, on the other hand, had been a large mover and shaker in his life.

For nights after the letter came, Jed dreamed of what his father's death had been like. Sometimes it was heroic, a desperate attempt to defend justice or save another man's life. Other times, it reflected the dark manner Jacob had exemplified before leaving Feltonshire, a treacherous tumble of searching for something and being shot instead. Either way, the dream always ended with Jed falling down a dark passage of uncertainty.

But even though he had been unlucky with his family, Jed eventually took advantage of the lucky parts of his life. He moved in with Harriett Stevenson in her apartment above the clothing shop she owned. A seamstress with quick hands and an auburn mane, she was the town's self-proclaimed spinster, despite many offers. She took good care of Jed from the second he entered her door, carpet bag of ill-fitting clothes in hand. She ensured that he was fed regularly and clothes decently (made up of items she had made herself, of course). One night she even put a needle and thread in his hand, teaching him the finer points of a seamless stitch.

Jed's earlier experiences in moving often had taught him to become observant, committing everything to memory in case he needed it for later. He also had a sort of sixth sense that allowed him to sense the emotions of others. Anger, fear, happiness—nothing passed under his radar. He carried these abilities over into the classroom. The schoolmaster loved his eagerness to learn and his razor blade memory while the students gobbled up his jokes and keen sense of humor.

As the years passed, he grew into a feisty, fun-loving person. Feltonshire's women loved his wild personality and the way he indulged in their fantasies by flirting back with them, giving them quick winks and smirks that melted their hearts.

His interest in metals and iron carried over into a career as a blacksmith. At seventeen, he took over his father's still empty place as Ethan's co-owner and the shop continued to flourish beyond what it had been under Jacob Lorries' hand. It seemed that whatever piece came under his hands, be it a horseshoe or a dish, ended up a masterpiece.

Yet no one could deny that, if anything, Jed had inherited his father's restlessness. As his popularity and success soared, there were odd moments when he stared at the horizon as if looking for something and not sure what. He enjoyed his life, but continually felt that there was something missing: a challenge, an adventure, something.

Nevertheless, Jed was a hit with the men, women, and children of Feltonshire. Friendly, outgoing, and helpful, he was a hard person to hate.

But of course, as goes with all lucky and loveable people, someone still did.

Adrienne entered Feltonshire like a strange wind in 1860, strong enough to leave an impression, but light enough to not make one stop and wonder. That was one of the most dangerous parts of her, her ability to be unseen and unnoticed until it was too late. One night she moved into a grimy abandoned cabin on the outskirts of town, and by the time anyone noticed her presence two weeks later, she had already planted a garden of green plants and multi-colored flowers

But she did leave an impression of a miserable woman who was obsessed with her own mortality. She avoided the other townspeople and when she did communicate, she had a cold and slimy way of getting under people's skin, leaving them feeling sick. It was as if she hated every one and everything but her plants and cabin. Rumors spread quickly that she was a witch, performing spells on forest animals in an effort to preserve her frigidly youthful beauty.

Most of all, she hated Jed. How could she not? He fulfilled everything she worked for and couldn't quite obtain: an eternally youthful exterior, enthusiastic manner, powerless to be controlled or hated. Whenever she walked to the town well to gather water, she would always see him out about, whistling a random tune. She would mutter at him under her breath as she watched his movements.

Little by little, she observed him, a plan forming in her mind.

-

-

-

-

-

-  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Another Author's Note: Sorry that these first few chapters have been so short. Think of them as a two-part prologue that you need in order to get through the journey ahead. A lot of the things you have learned in these past two chapters will come up later, particularly the mystery of Adrienne. I hope you enjoyed the references to the creeper and his tendencies in this episode. I fear if I got a little too sappy or Mary Sue-ish in this chapter though, but I'll leave the judgment up to you. Feel free to pick away at the good and the bad._**

**_Sorry too that this has taken so long to update. The last few weeks have been a hectic trek to the top of Mount College Work. I was planning on working more on this story as soon as my finals were done, but then my computer crashed, causing me to lose most of my documents (including the notes and research I had for this for story). Anyway, I'm back now, and I hope to update this story on a weekly or biweekly basis. Thanks for your patience._**


End file.
